


Parchment Paper Heart

by HecatesKiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Expect Tags to Change, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HecatesKiss/pseuds/HecatesKiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter never expected the Diary to come back into his hands. However, it has. And now he finds himself in possession of something that isn't quite as dead as he had hoped. He knows how to keep it from taking possession of him, and besides... talking to a young Tom Riddle while trying to solve a disturbing case is somehow relaxing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parchment Paper Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> ~ * ~  
> Due to infringement Issues with another site, this fic may eventually become locked to members only. Just a warning.
> 
> No part of this story may be reproduced, copied, modified or adapted, without the prior written consent of the author.~ dated 27-08-2014.
> 
> Guys? I have no problem with you grabbing a private copy for your e-readers. However, I really dislike it showing up somewhere outside of Ao3. Really, REALLY dislike it!
> 
> ~*~
> 
> For my friend MKA. She asked for this, so I will do my best to try and write it.

Harry sat and stared at the oil cloth wrapped bundle, tied neatly with simple twine. Beneath it was the outer wrapping, McGonagall Tartan spread across his desk and the paperwork from the Jodfries’ case. He had yet to reach for the bow that held the package closed. He instead reached again for the official piece of parchment that had accompanied the package.

_Mr. H. Potter_

_On the event of my death, this package comes to you. You were one of my favorite students Harry, valued for yourself, not just because you were your parents’ son. I saw much of James in you, and so much of Lily too. But, I also saw_ you _, Mr. Potter._

_Albus first left this in Severus’ care, and Severus’ will passed it along to me. I now place it in your care. I have only opened it once, to verify exactly what it was. It has resided in my vaults since the last war ended on the same day we lost so many of our dear friends._

_I believe you are the best choice to hold this, Harry. For that I am sorry. Albus said you would figure out what this had been in his note to Severus, which I left wrapped with the item in question._

_Yours,_  
Minerva McGonagall,  
Headmistress of Hogwarts School, Recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class 

The words hadn’t changed. He swallowed on a dry throat and let the parchment drop. Instead he reached down and pulled open the center drawer of his desk. A muttered “bottle fame” slipped the sliver of wizard’s space open enough for him to draw out a bottle of fine scotch and a single glass marked with the Black Crest. He poured himself a generous helping of the liquid in the bottle and then threw back the entire contents of the glass in one go.

“Damn old tabby. You shouldn’t be gone. The bastards hexed you during my second year, and then what you suffered on the battlefield… damn them, Death Eaters and Aurors all. If this… Severus would have hexed you for leaving _that_ with me, I know it.” Harry muttered as he rubbed his free hand over his face, grimacing idly at the stubble. Setting the glass aside, he plucked carefully at the twine and let the oil cloth fall away.

Preserved in it’s scarred glory lay a black muggle book, a gaping hole straight through the center. 

Harry blinked as somebody knocked on his door. He scooped up all the wrappings and the destroyed horcrux and dumped them into the right hand top drawer. He shoved it shut, capped the bottle and threw both glass and bottle back into their hiding spots before he turned his attention back to the report scattered in front of him. “Come.”

“Auror Potter? I need your signature on the forms to release… um... Michael Ramsey.” 

Harry nodded at one of the young aurors and took up his quill even as the parchment was laid down before him. He watched the young man go green around the gills as he caught sight of the too still, blood splashed photographs that were part of the case. He shook his head and pulled a spare bit of parchment over the top of the grisly sight.

“Breathe, Pehi.” Harry suggested. The kid nodded, swallowed convulsively and gulped.

“Never… saw something like that.” The young man shook his head and grimaced. Harry only nodded and handed back the form. This was why the aurors served a month as runners between the various divisions of the Auror Department before being put on the streets.

Once the door shut behind the kid Harry leaned back in his chair and scrubbed both hands over his face. He blew out a breath and shook his head. War-forged aurors were some of the best in at least thirty years. He snorted. His parent’s generation had been the last group of war-forged. Moody’s had been the last group before that. Tested and honed in combat, they rarely lost their stomachs, no matter how bad a scene. 

This new crop? He shook his head. They hadn’t even been _born_ when the final battle occurred. They only knew Voldemort as a boogey man in stories. They didn’t know the gut wrenching terror that was the man breathing down their necks. He shook his head. Even without a mass murdering psycho on the streets, the Jodfries’ case was bad enough.

Harry turned his attention to the case, once more immersing himself in blood, gore, and almost a muggle level of violence. Several of his collegues were saying the killer had to have been a muggle-born. Harry didn’t _quite_ believe that. 

* * *  
Dawn came far too early, in Harry’s opinion as he pushed himself upright and glared at the Finn’s Window he had spelled into place years ago on the east facing wall of his office. It let in light without having an actual window. A bleary glare at the thing still brought a faint smirk to his lips. It had been something Minerva had taught him after the war. He grumbled, scratched at his jaw and sighed. He glared down at the paperwork still scattered across his desk and shook his head. He’d fallen asleep over his paperwork… again. 

Pushing to his feet, he stretched and felt and heard his back crack in several places. He muttered various freshening and cleaning spells as he slipped open the buttons on his shirt and tossed it aside. He reached for the fresh black shirt that always hung on his coat-rack and shrugged it on, buttoning it up even as he muttered the shaving spell.

Harry banished his old shirt and grabbed a piece of bright blue parchment, scribbled out an order, imprinted his vault key and tapped his fingers against the corner. The sheet folded itself into a paper aeroplane and then whisked itself out the open transom window above his office door.

Ten minutes later a knock and the scent of a traditional English Breakfast were placed on his hastily cleared desk. 

“Thank you, Jeffery. Tell your Mum I say hi.”

“Sure Auror Potter. She asks when she’s ever gonna actually see you.” The kid said with a quick smile. Harry pressed a few sickles into the Abbott kid’s palm and waved him off. He shook his head once the door had shut. Jeff Abbott… he’d never expected Hannah Abbott to have had a child, but she’d done her best, running the _Cauldron_ after her uncle Tom had died. It wasn’t her fault that the Yank had run off and left her to raise a little boy on her own.

Harry dug into his breakfast, grinning when he realized that Hannah had doubled the amount of tomatoes he got. He ate quickly, gaze fixed on the report that was charmed to hover in front of him. he knew he was missing something important about the case. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

Digging absently into the right hand drawer for a sheet of parchment, his fingers grazed a sheet and he tugged it to him. He dipped his quill into the ink and wrote one sentence across the top of the scrap piece.

_What defines a psychopath?_


End file.
